


Blindness For My Sight

by astramaxima (shotgunsinlace)



Category: Sonic the Hedgehog (2020)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anonymous Sex, Bisexual Agent Stone, Boss/Employee Relationship, Butt Plugs, Clothed Sex, Cock Rings, Coming Untouched, Competent Agent Stone, Erotic Electrostimulation, F/M, Glove Kink, M/M, Multi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Strangers as a Proxy for Robotnik, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Sex, d/s dynamics, degradation kink, mild choking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:40:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23253334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shotgunsinlace/pseuds/astramaxima
Summary: Stone will go to any length necessary to make certain he’s running like a well-oiled machine, to make sure that his mind is clear and sharp enough to face the upcoming day. If that requires soliciting a partner – or in this case, two – to get those annoyingly carnal urges under control, then so be it. He should have known, however, that nothing ever flies undetected under the doctor's surveillance systems, and Dr. Robotnik doesn't like others touching what belongs to him.
Relationships: Agent Stone / Original Female Character, Agent Stone / Original Male Character, Dr. Eggman | Dr. Robotnik/Agent Stone
Comments: 24
Kudos: 140





	1. Exercise

**Author's Note:**

> How cursed has 2020 been? Here I am, _writing Sonic fanfiction._ Please read those tags carefully (more to be added soon). This is purely self-indulgent because I believe Agent Stone deserves a good time and this is me giving it to him. The second part will focus entirely on Robotnik/Stone, so, technically, you can skip this first part altogether if you so wish.
> 
> The title is from the song _Bed of Nails_ by Circle of Dust (the Blue Stahli mix) which played on repeat while I wrote this first part. Enjoy!

The room is dark save for the red spotlight illuminating the bed at its center. A bedside table holds a black velvet tray with an assortment of tools handpicked by Stone, courtesy of the deal struck by the people he’s employed for the evening. He paid a pretty penny for it, so it’s only fair they cater hand and foot to his every whim for the next four hours.

A lesser man would be overtaken by shame at Stone’s methods, consumed by humiliation at the mere idea of challenging one’s own ability to seek out the most desired vehicle for release. But he is no lesser man. He is a man broken by war, put haphazardly back together by the countless field missions where pulling the trigger has been the actions of a ghost, and optimized by a mad genius who continuously challenges his will and strength of mind.

Stone will go to any length necessary to make certain he’s running like a well-oiled machine, to make sure that his mind is clear and sharp enough to face the upcoming day.

And if that requires soliciting a partner – or in this case, two – to get those annoyingly carnal urges under control, then so be it. The very least he can do is hire the best of the best, the most skilled and the most anonymous among the endless list of service providers.

“Take off your shoes,” says a woman dressed in a simple black dress that reaches her knees. She’s barefoot, but the room is too dark to properly determine the color of her nail polish. “You know the words.”

“Yes,” Stone says, since nodding his head will not be affirmation enough in this situation. He carefully removes his shoes and leaves them by the door but keeps his socks on. The chill in the room tells him the floors are freezing. “There’s one of you missing.”

The woman turns on her heels and walks towards the bed without fanfare, the sway of her hips natural. “Traffic’s a bitch. He’ll be here in a little bit. But we’re on your dime, so I suggest we get started, Mister…?”

“I’d rather we don’t exchange names.”

“Not even fake ones? Whatever shall I call out when you’re balls deep inside me, huh?” She sits on the edge of the bed – a large platform that hangs from the ceiling, draped in rich black satin – and spreads her legs while hiking up her dress enough to reveal the smooth, brown skin of her thighs. “I’d recommend pet names, but you don’t look the type.”

Stone shrugs and removes his nondescript hoodie, unceremoniously casting it aside. The place looks spotless enough for him to not care where it lands. “I wasn’t aware I looked like any sort of type.”

The woman smiles, reaching out to place her hands on either side of his hips and guiding him to stand between her legs. “I could tell you.”

“Are you going to make me work for it?”

“Maybe.” She leans forward to rest her chin on his chest, looking up at him with a gleam in her eye. “You look like you get off on being told what to do, but you also look military. I know how controlling military men like to be in bed.” The woman bites her bottom lip, moving her hands until they’re resting inside Stone’s back pockets. “Then again, you requested another man… and you were very specific when it came to him.”

Stone brushes her dark curls behind her shoulder and softly drags a thumb along her ear. “You’re very observant.”

“Aside from that and the accessories, you didn’t specify what you wanted out of this. You’re too put together for this to be a spur of the moment thing, or even your first rodeo.” The woman takes his hand and coyly places it over her exposed knee, slowly dragging it upward and abandoning Stone to do as he pleases once he encounters the edge of her dress.

“Any more theories up your stockings?”

The woman laughs as she leans back, spreading her legs wider. “Hm, let’s see… A submissive military man who likes surprises. No, not surprises,” she pauses, raising a leg and resting her foot at the center of his chest. Her toenails are painted purple. “Oh, you like being denied a choice.” She drags her foot downward, resting it featherlight against his groin. “A superior knocked you around and you _liked_ it.”

Stone swallows around the lump lodged firmly at the base of his throat, rocking his hips for more pressure. “Keep talking.”

“Pristine little you couldn’t get it out of his mind, or his dick. You probably jacked off more times than you could count and yet…” The woman reclines all the way back, scooting up the bed to rest her heels against the edge of the mattress and knocking her knees wide open. “It just wasn’t enough. Man or woman?”

Stone moves without instruction, reaching down to press the tip of his nose to the black satin of her panties. He sucks in a deep breath; taken by the scent of sex he so often denies himself of. It’s nowhere near what he truly desires, what he needs, but he can make do. “You already know the answer to that.”

Sharp nails scrape the top of his head, making him shiver. “Of course I do,” she says, turning the touch into a grip and pushing his face flush against her. “I want to hear you say it.”

He opens his mouth on instinct, pressing his tongue flat against the warm fabric and slowly lapping at it, making the woman sigh. “Man,” Stone says eventually, when her underwear is damp from his saliva and her juices.

Stone doesn’t let up when he hears the door behind him click open and then close, now having moved the tiny black triangle of fabric away from the prize with a finger, using his tongue to push between hot folds and work tight circles around the nub beneath the hood. Not even her moans are enough to distract him from the big hand that lands at the base of his back and slowly pushes its way upward, uncaring about the shirt still on Stone’s back. Another hand wraps around the front of his neck, and the warm leather of the glove it dons forces a meek moan out of Stone’s throat.

The woman laughs. “I think he likes that.”

Stone swallows hard and the gloved hand presses harder, weakening his knees and making his already hard cock throb achingly in his pants.

The brush of facial hair against the back of his ear makes Stone reach up and grab the wrist of the arm holding him in place, squeezing in the form of a taunt—a taunt that is not rightfully punished, to his disappointment.

It doesn’t matter how well he can control the situation, his attention to detail could never come close to comparing to the real thing. The real thing being an impossible concept. No amount of tweaking of the script can elicit the thrill of being told to pin himself against the wall for a verbal lashing.

Even when the man pressed against Stone’s back – long and lithe as he is, faceless and voiceless for this fantasy to work – forces two fingers into his mouth, it isn’t the same. It will never be. It’s an empty sort of pleasure, a good way to let off steam after weeks of ignoring the raging hard-ons the gratuitous castigation and thickly veiled praises often leave him with.

Even as he’s manhandled out of the remainder of his clothing, deposited onto the woman’s waiting body with his cock sheathed inside of her, two gloved fingers snug in his ass as he’s worked to the point of pleasured silence – it’s not enough. One person, or two, or three, or robots, or fleshlights, or exhibiting himself to his phone’s camera, or even jerking off in the dead of night outside of the mobile lab a breath away from being caught, it’s not enough. Nothing can quite compare to the mad doctor bathing him in vitriol, the impersonal way he grabs Stone by the teeth, knocks the air right out of him with a well-aimed blow to the chest.

It’s a twisted sort of game, a truth that rests on his tongue worse than cyanide. It breaks him down to a molecular level, a base setting unreadable to everyone but _him_. The doctor. Such a perfect machine despite the one glaring fault of being a carbon-based lifeform, which in turn makes Stone crave the ability to touch him. He would crawl for him – _fuck, he already has crawled, on all fours, before the doctor_ – and he would kill for him, but his hands are already bloodied on to the doctor’s orders.

A third finger splits him open wider and Stone grunts, swatting the woman’s hand away when she reaches for one of the many toys neglected on the tray. “You don’t look the least bit overwhelmed there, soldier. What’s the problem?”

Neither does she, for that matter, but he doesn’t mention it. “Not feeling it.”

She snorts, playfully smacking him on the arm. “Bet you could feel a lot more if you let me put that ring on you.”

“Just let me finish then we can all be on our way.”

The man behind Stone scoffs and pulls out his fingers without warning, leaving him feeling empty and bitterly unsatisfied. “No need to get testy there, man. If you can’t get your kicks with us, then there’s seriously something wrong with you,” he says, in a voice so deep and wrong it ruins what little bit of the illusion Stone was able to cling to.

“You two are fine,” Stone says, readjusting himself on the mattress to better angle his thrusts. For the amount of money he put down for this, the least he can do is cum his goddamn brains out. Arms on either side of the woman, Stone thrusts forward, hard enough to make her back arch with a soundless scream.

He sets a punishing pace, no longer interested in the man licking his way up the back of his thighs, leaving a small bite on his left asscheck. “No marks,” Stone snaps, “we agreed to this beforehand.”

“Alright, alright. Don’t get your fatigues in a twist, buddy.”

Stone grits his teeth and refocuses his attention on the woman beneath him who now stares up at him with something akin to wonder on her face. She wraps her legs around his waist and claws at his shoulders, urging him to fuck her harder. “I think you’re holding back,” she says, breathless, “Ain’t none of us going to break, pretty boy. Let all that shit go. Dig it all up and let it all go.”

Stone hangs his head, out of breath, when the man returns with a wrapped dick and too much lube. He grits his teeth when the initial burn lasts longer than he would like, but he _likes_ it. Stone likes how it pulls him out from the reality he is currently in, almost wiping the slate of awareness enough to make the fantasy feel real. For a flash of a moment, Stone is on his hands and knees, filled to the brim – to _bursting_ – by the only man he has ever truly desired.

Control taken from him, he’s no longer fucking the woman but getting fucked by a nice, thick cock as gloved hands dig into the skin of his hips. Stone moans deep and long, almost laughs at how deliriously good it feels when he’s wrestled onto his haunches, each thrust going deeper until it finally hits what he’s been waiting for.

A mouth attaches itself to his leaking cock and sucks so good Stone hardly registers the lips brushing along the column of his sweaty neck.

In a sex-induced delirium, where the room swims red and black, gloved hands working his dick with an equally talented mouth, ass pounded with the skill of a meticulously designed robot—Stone chants a mantra that is familiar to him, a steady stream of _fuck, please, Doctor, Doctor!, more, fuck._

At the very least, as he cums thick ropes onto whatever surface is nearest, Stone accepts that he’s gotten his money’s worth. The next time Robotnik requests a coffee, his sexually frustrated brain won’t mess up the order—at least, not unintentionally.


	2. Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Robotnik? A fucking riot to write, tbh. Tags have been updated so give those a read.

Stone is up fifteen minutes before his 4:00am alarm. 

He goes on a thirty minute run around the neighborhood, the sun yet to show its face by the time he gets back to the small house the government has assigned to him while they buckle down on their search for the blue hedgehog-like creature the doctor has been obsessing over for the past week. To think, the number of coups squashed before they even had the chance to kick off, the sheer amount of weapons designed, cures found, and robots built over the course of a single month. And yet, an anthropomorphic creature and its human sidekick were giving Robotnik a run for his money.

Stone showers and trims his beard back into its impeccable state, just like the doctor likes it, and forsakes the usual cologne in favor of a scented oil designed specifically for him. The scent is barely perceptible, subtle enough to be drowned out by other static smells, but Stone can pick up the trace hints of lavender.

He runs his list of errands for the day through his head like clockwork: brew two cups and a small thermos’ worth of Colombian coffee, pick up the doctor’s new sunglasses from Optical Illusions, drop off his other suit at the dry cleaners, give the president of the United States a courtesy call regarding current affairs with Azerbaijan, give the Department of Defense one final warning, check in with Robotnik at the mobile lab (to deliver his coffee), scrutinize NOAA’s most recent findings revolving their latest satellites, grab lunch, and stand by for whatever the doctor feels like having him do.

It feels like an average day, by all accounts, but the silver box resting on the bathroom counter makes it anything but. He was given specific instructions to open it the morning after it was given to him, and normally, Stone assumed it to be some sort of personalized weapon for their current mission. The way Robotnik had presented it, however, sent a chill sliding down his spine and along each individual rib.

Stone had been ready to take his leave for the evening, but the doctor very offhandedly suggested he take the box with him. “I trust even _you_ have more self-control than a preadolescent simiiformes catarrhini, Agent Stone,” he had said without sparing Stone a parting glance.

Staring it down now he doesn’t want to open it but does so anyway.

He would have preferred a bomb.

The assortment of accessories would be inconspicuous enough to the untrained eye, but Stone is intimately acquainted with the doctor’s aesthetic choices when it comes to his more discrete creations. 

He picks up the small, egg-shaped contraption with the flared end and Stone immediately knows what it is.

For the first time since his novice years in the field, Stone feels overwhelmed. Sweat beads on the back of his ears, making his hands feel clammy as he rolls the plug on his open palm. Setting it aside, he inspects the slightly more obvious choices in the box: a titanium ring that looks to be suspiciously the perfect size for him, and a miniature vial of clear liquid he can only assume to be lubricant.

“What the hell?” he asks his reflection in the foggy mirror.

Robotnik wouldn’t be where he is if he were not the most observant creature on the planet, or the smartest. But he’s also clueless when it comes to basic human drives, which is why, Stone assumes, he’s been able to fly under the doctor’s keen senses for years. It seems he hasn’t been as astute as he thought he was after all.

He should have known that no amount of makeup would be enough to cover the fading bruises on his neck. For a brief moment he actually thought he had fooled the doctor when he had made no comment regarding it yesterday, but Stone should have known better. Nothing ever goes unnoticed. Nothing.

Picking up the vial, Stone does the only thing he can think to do. The doctor’s gifts are always meant to be used, otherwise, they would have never left the lab.

* * *

“Agent Stone!” It’s less a greeting and more of a direct demand for his attention, and it is exclaimed before Stone can set proper foot in the lab.

“Doctor,” he greets in turn, smiling amicably as he comes to a stop at his usual spot behind Robotnik’s chair. He is hyper aware of the door soundlessly sealing shut.

The screen in front of them displays all sorts of charts and graphs, each one changing as they are continuously fed new data from the machines out on the field. Images of footprints, caves, badly drawn pictures, and a screenshot taken on a phone of an Olive Garden menu are neatly sorted by size.

“Do you know what it is you’re looking at?”

Stone shakes his head. “No.”

“Of course not. Typical of you and any other living thing that isn’t me.” Robotnik pushes back in his chair, hands firmly grasping the edge of it and leaning forward into Stone’s space once it comes to a stop. He points at the screen. “ _That_ is the key to finding that little gremlin. Did you know that last year, Olive Garden served 612 million breadsticks and 165 million family style bowls of salad? That's enough for the entire population of the United States to have two servings of salad and two breadsticks each.” He darts up from his chair and stomps back towards the monitors, throwing his hands up and rapidly scrolling through dozens of miniature holographic screens. “Your average small town has one restaurant per 200 square miles. Now tell me, Stone, how many Olive Gardens have you seen since we arrived at this glorified trucker pit stop?”

Stone blinks at him, uncertain of the point he’s trying to make. “Not a single one, Doctor.”

“ _Exactly_. Care to tell me why Wachowski has an app on his phone that is perpetually useless, when they _don’t even offer delivery?_ ”

“He must definitely be up to something,” Stone says, and he means it. Although he doubts restaurant apps have anything to do with it, he’s kept a close eye on the energy pulses centered around the area. The doctor has done the same, obviously, but the man always has some eccentric methodology behind his research and Stone knows better than to suggest alternatives.

“Truly,” Robotnik says, the word rolling off his tongue with a sharp click. He abruptly turns to Stone, sizing him up and down with an intensity that pales in comparison to any other time he has ever done so. “Do you know who else is definitely up to something?”

Stone tries his damnest not to tense up under the scrutiny, his face schooled into the expected look of placid curiosity whenever the doctor addresses him. He stands a little straighter – a betrayal of the nervous energy pulsating just beneath the fabric of his pristine suit – and raises his eyebrows.

“Agent Stone, I believe it will be in your best interest to inform me – RIGHT NOW – of your whereabouts on Monday evening, as I don’t recall ever granting you any sort of personal leave.” Robotnik crowds him, each billow of his breath tickling Stone’s upper lip. “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of how expandable you are. Of how my precious, perfect robots could do your job with _minimal effort_.”

“The law requires me to use paid time off—” The sentence is abruptly cut off by Robotnik’s gloved hand taking hold of Stone’s jaw, two fingers securely in his mouth.

“I am _above_ the law, Stone,” he hisses the words against Stone’s ear, tightening his grip until it becomes difficult to not flinch from the pain. “And you are my assistant. My henchman. Minion. Lackey. Doormat. Whatchamacallit. Therefore, _you_ answer to _me_. Have I not been a generous and compassionate superior to you, allowing you to retire to your private accommodations every evening? Or am I being too lenient? Clearly I have been if that bruise on your neck is any indication of your frivolous indiscretion.”

Stone side-eyes him, uncertain of what to say or do. He should have known Robotnik would eventually find out and put him on the spot, threaten him with the destruction of his entire career. He’s yet to decide if it has all been worth it, if a good yet unsatisfying lay is enough to justify walking out of the lab and never seeing the doctor again. But as it stands, Stone figures he might as well go out with a bang: Robotnik’s fingers are in his mouth and the verbal abuse is hitting his buttons just so. He feels reckless enough, for once, to throw all caution to the wind and let the narrative take its course.

Of course, Robotnik steals the opportunity from him.

It hits Stone like the electric shock that it is, zapping on every nerve ending in his body until his muscles betray him, sending him to his knees. He hits the floor with a choked gasp, his suddenly useless hand trying fruitlessly to loosen the pressure of his tie around his throat. Stone blinks away the balls of light intruding in his vision, focusing on the doctor’s polished shoes.

“Whoooops,” Robotnik says, smacking his own hip with a sigh. “Looks like I underestimated the voltage on your little toy.” He squats down onto his haunches, using a finger to move Stone’s head to the side and study his face. “Flushed epidermis, pupil dilation at a rate of 100 milliamberts, increased heart rate—” Robotnik presses the button pads on his glove and pulls up the remainder of Stone’s vitals on a holoscreen. “It would seem there’s been an increase in both your vasopressin and testosterone levels as well.”

Another jolt has Stone gritting his teeth to prevent any sounds from escaping. “This is… extremely unethical.”

Robotnik tsks, thoughtfully brushing his mustache. “Would you like to know what is truly unethical, Agent? Using unpatented technology to solicit anonymous sexual encounters. Technology that _I_ designed. Me. For my personal use.” He grabs Stone by the small amount of hair on his head, yanking it back to get a better look at him. “World governments have gone to war for this technology, and here you are, using it to navigate Grindr incognito.”

“Grindr is traceable,” Stone grits out, body still spasming from the steady stream of barely noticeable shocks pulsating deep within him.

“ _I DON’T CARE_ ,” Robotnik shouts, shoving Stone aside before getting up and making his way back to his swivel chair. He drops down on it with a dramatic flourish, leaning back as far as it can go. “In the past seventy-two hours you have used my designs without my permission, utilized it to engage in utterly deplorable activities non-suitable for our PG rating, lied to me about it, and then had the sheer stone-faced audacity to walk into my lab with a contraption firmly lodged up your anal cavity because your seemingly unwavering loyalty to me seems to trump any smidge of common sense in that underdeveloped brain of yours, you unscrupulous Neanderthal!”

The only reply Stone can muster is moan.

He pushes himself up onto his hands and knees, sweat now gathering in various parts of his body as he tries to redirect his attention to anything other than his aching dick. The vitals on the screen, however, betray him, and Robotnik makes the necessary adjustments by switching on the titanium band latched around the base of his cock.

The vibrations are a horrible contrast to the dull thrum of static tickling the sensitive skin of his ass, the two distinct feelings tearing him apart above the thin line between pain and pleasure. He can feel himself swell in his pants, heart hammering so hard he can swear it could jump right out of his chest given the opportunity. Stone’s sight and hearing swim briefly, fogging up to nothing but the two very acute points in his body that, if it weren’t for the ring, would have made him cum.

Robotnik crosses his legs and casually rests his hands over a folded knee. “You are the dirt beneath my shoes, Stone, but even dirt is studied and learned from. No, you are the chewed gum I scrape off with disgust after I’ve chewed it up and spit it out on Commander Whatshisface’s floor.”

“At least you had me in your mouth,” Stone bites snidely, potentially due to a death wish.

Robotnik’s shoe digs into the side of his face. “I. Do not. Like. Your cheek.”

Stone smiles up at him with a docile little mask in place. “My apologies, Doctor. I’ll try harder.”

With a sneer, Robotnik smacks his cheek again. “You humans and your unsavory fetishes. You’re no better than animals and their droning instinct to mate.”

Stone wants to remark that the doctor is the one currently indulging him, that he doesn’t have to, but Robotnik catches wind of his thoughts and presses another button, sending Stone crashing onto the floor again with a genuinely humiliating groan slipping past his lips.

“What _drives_ you, Agent Stone?” he asks, and maybe it’s the regular pulse of electricity or the endless vibrations inundating the agent’s brain in lustful waves, but the doctor sounds hoarse, like he’s genuinely enjoying the power he’s exuding with his words alone. “What is it about _me_ that makes _you tick?_ ”

He’s run through battlefields with bullets lodged in him with the help of adrenaline alone. If anything, Stone is good at compartmentalizing and displacing unwanted sensations. He is nothing if not disciplined, and despite the animalistic need to give Robotnik what he wants, Stone does have a shred of self-respect. Clearing his throat – and after a few false starts – he’s able to get up on his feet and straighten out the disgruntled state of his suit. Stone tugs on his jacket and fixes his tie. He makes sure his cuff-links are still in place even when the magnitude of his torment is increased.

Robotnik stares at him, face paging through a dozen emotions at once until finally settling into a look of interest. Not the sexual kind, as he seems as nonplussed about the entire situation as he did before it all started, but an interest that borders on curiosity: a scientist plotting the one-hundred-and-one ways he could potentially dissect an otherworldly specimen without getting his pristine gloves dirty.

It’s insanely hot and Stone wishes he weren’t as affected by it as he is. If the doctor won’t sleep with him, at the very least a hands-on approach to research would be the next best thing. _So long as he sees me, as long as I have his attention._

Robotnik unfolds himself and jumps up from his chair, aggressively pointing towards the only unoccupied segment of wall in the lab. “You know what to do,” he says, and Stone nods his head with a sigh. Walking feels like a foreign experience, but he manages, placing a hand on his own chest as he pins himself to the wall. The doctor hones in on him like he typically does, his minty breath tickling Stone’s nose once again. “Tell me why you’re wearing those accessories.”

Stone wills the hand on his chest to stop shaking, but it only brings attention to the quivering of his thighs and the throbbing of his cock. If only Robotnik would get closer and all Stone would have to do is lightly tilt his hips forward… “You don’t know?” he stammers, the words coming out of him in a rush of burning air.

“Of course I do, you blithering idiot. I just want to hear you say it. Say how _good_ I am to you; practically a philanthropist, allowing you to partake in your lesser human drive for sex in my presence.”

“This isn’t how—”

“Don’t interrupt me,” Robotnik says, the alarmingly soft tone contrasted by the hand slamming into Stone’s throat and using it to keep him in place. “Now, answer the question before I stop all of my beautifully crafted contraptions’ functions in one… in two—”

“They were gifts,” Stone manages to nearly wheeze before Robotnik eases the grip around his neck. “You gave them to me. Why wouldn’t I use them?”

“Because in accordance with the woefully vague guidelines of the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission, punishment for the prepositioning of sexual exploits – no matter their level of severity – is,” Robotnik pauses, taking a moment to rationalize his facts before shrugging, “non-applicable to me given my official societal and governmental status. For the sake of congruity, to utilize your earlier statement, it is unethical.” He sniffs. “I also like to consider myself a gentleman. Why don’t you try again?”

“To paraphrase _your_ earlier statement, my loyalty may be a bit skewed.” Stone is forced onto his tiptoes as the doctor tightens his hold again, holding him in place with the added closeness of his body. The proximity alone is enough to rob Stone of any air left in his lungs.

“Loyalty.” Robotnik rolls the word on his tongue, holding it on the tip and tasting it for the entirety of its duration. “Is this what this is? Mere loyalty?” A gloved thumb traces the vein along the agent’s neck, causing Stone’s knees to buckle under the attention but Robotnik holds fast. “I clothe you, feed you, elevate you to the highest position imaginable in this sorry excuse of a governmental hierarchy, guarantee your comfort, wipe your slate clean – oh yes, Agent Stone, I am intimately acquainted with your history. I’m certain the Secret Service wouldn’t be too keen on the idea of keeping you onboard were they to get a load of your kill count out on the field.” Robotnik laughs: a heady sound that makes Stone lean as far as he can into him. “Don’t even get me _started_ on your psychological exam that I may or may not have tweaked for strictly personal reasons. I only waste my time on those who deserve to lick my boot and you, Stone, fit the bill quite… beautifully.”

“Doctor—”

“So, you better give me something more than _LOYALTY_.”

“I— _oh_ ,” Stone gasps, body seizing up when a powerful jolt lights up every synapse like a firework. In a fit of _something_ he tries to kick out, up, wrench himself free from the hold when everything overwhelms him at once, momentarily robbing him of upper level mental faculties. 

The vibrations around his dick abruptly stop, the egg-shaped plug expanding until Stone forgets himself, clasping a desperate hand on Robotnik’s forearm. “Ask me nicely,” the doctor commands.

“Please! Doctor, I can’t—”

“No, no, no, _no_. There is no _can’t_ here, Stone. You either fulfill your pathetic human needs right here and now or I’ll make sure you never ejaculate on anything ever again.”

Stone nods his head once as the creeping swell of orgasm settles hard and heavy at the cusp of his thighs, the dull thrum in his ass mercilessly shoving him towards a cliff he can’t fall off of. It sits heavy in his balls, desperation clawing at his gut as wildly as he claws at Robotnik’s sleeve.

“Do I make myself clear?” The agent can only whimper his response. “I believe I asked a question.”

“Yes! _Fuck_ , yes—” His words die before they can escape his mouth, the sheer violence of his orgasm at the faint sound of a barely-registered beep sending him rigid, head slamming back against the fuse box as he holds onto the arm pinning him for dear life. The heady mixture of pain and pleasure and desire and the _proximity_ —he’s _touching_ him, breathing the same air as him, his impeccable hair disheveled from doing nothing but degrade him.

Stone is certain he’s never cum so hard in his life.

Were it not for Robotnik’s iron-like grip, he would have hit the floor again. His ears ring and he can barely feel his lower half, the sweat on his face growing cold within moments. He feels disgusting. His pants do, anyway. The rest of him wishes he could sit and bask at the glorious man staring him down with a look akin to perplexed anger. 

For someone so unfazed by the events that just transpired, Robotnik’s breathing is imperceptibly labored. He looks to be holding back despite the firm grip he still has on Stone’s neck, his mustache twitching as if he were to say something but has changed his mind. It’s the first time Stone has ever seen the doctor hesitate.

Yanked away from the wall, Stone stumbles on rubbery legs as he’s unceremoniously thrown onto Robotnik’s swivel chair where he struggles to regain some sort of composure, sitting upright and sheepishly flattening his skewed tie. Stone gingerly touches his neck, the spots where the doctor dug his fingertips into smarting. They will definitely bruise, but it will be a much welcome addition than the decorations left behind by previous lovers.

Stone clears his throat, shocked at himself for even attaching the label to Robotnik.

Robotnik, who is back to tweaking something or another on his workbench, back pointedly towards Stone. Hair still a mess, shoulders pinched in what appears to be tension, but he doesn’t speak. He doesn’t bark orders or snidely remark Stone ought to get his shit together, instead granting him a moment to gather himself in his own time. It’s a subtle but touching gesture, one that makes Stone think that, just maybe, Dr Robotnik does know what it is to be human. 

The screen changes from Stone’s vitals to an assortment of photographs taken from surveillance drones: most of them are of him going about his daily routine outside of work. Nothing too invasive, Stone reasons, given the doctor’s need to know everything about everyone in his sphere at any given time, but the image of him walking into a nondescript house in a pristine neighborhood timestamped from two days ago, along with a screenshot of the unlisted browser search history has Stone looking away.

“Do I even need to state the obvious?” he says, carefully gauging the shift in Robotnik’s posture. “What I do during my personal time—”

“No.”

“—has no effect—”

“ _Wrong_.”

“—on my faithfulness—”

“Try again.”

“—towards you, Doctor.” Stone smiles despite his petulance, stubborn creature that he is. “I won’t do it again,” he finishes, understanding now that it doesn’t matter how mind-blowing a fuck it may be, it will never hit the spot quite like Robotnik talking and manhandling him into submission. “You have my word.”

“Your word is as useless as the rest of these sniveling idiots.” Robotnik turns to face him, leaning back against his workbench almost sultrily as he crosses his legs at the ankles. “But it’s a start.” He kicks off and walks over to Stone, hovering over him with a smile that doesn’t coincide with the tight threat in his voice as he says: “There is no need to ‘get your kicks’ elsewhere, Agent. Not when I have an entire arsenal at your disposal.”

Stone looks up at him and is unable to suppress a full-body shiver, grateful for the chair beneath him. He’s too blissed out to maintain control of his reactions and expressions, making him acutely aware of the way he’s staring at the doctor: with a look not unlike that of unabashed adoration.

“I hope I’ve made myself clear enough for a toddler to understand,” Robotnik says, unbothered by the open display.

“Perfectly.”

“Perfectly?”

“Inescapably, Doctor.”

“Good. Even you are capable of the occasional bout of comprehension, it would seem.” Looking like he’s licked a lemon, Robotnik rubs his thumb against a patch on Stone’s cheek for no other reason than to touch him, given the absence of everything other than his beard. The touch is oddly possessive simply because it is a touch, and Robotnik only ever partakes in physical contact when it is absolutely necessary. Nothing is ever casual, never thoughtless. “Recover,” he says, surprising Stone yet again, “you’re no use to me when your mental faculties are so addled by base instincts.”

The doctor flexes his fist and turns back to his station, this time truly immersing himself in the task at hand and blocking Stone out.

He’s not bothered. In fact, Stone is relieved at being given the time to get his life back together on that swivel chair, the very one the doctor nearly murdered a man for accidentally sitting on. Robotnik may be an utterly narcissistic madman all of the time, but it is heartwarming to know he holds some shred of esteem for Stone.

Maybe, just maybe, Stone can dig a little bit more humanity out of him yet.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on twitter @ **[astramaxima](https://twitter.com/astramaxima)!**


End file.
